Cake
by Unproper Grammar
Summary: "It's not even my birthday, but he wanna lick the icing off." Dick and Barbara spend a little time together. - Takes place directly after the end of YJ #25. -


**Hi. I wrote some smut cause I got tired of people arguging on Tumblr yesterday! Takes place after the door clicks closed and Dick and Babs go inside his apartment on his birthday. **

**It's ridiculous. It's just about 2,500 words of smut, if I'm being honest. Fluffy smut with a lot of stuff about feeeeelings because I can't write smut without feeling. Reflective of my love life, I guess. **

**Song title is from Cake by Rihanna, for obvious reasons. However, I listened to 'Whatever You Like' by Anya Marina while writing this. I suggest you do too.**

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**Cake**

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They've been sitting on the couch, tangled up in each other's arms, talking and laughing about nothing in particular, for over two hours when things really start to get physical. They'd been making out on and off since she showed up at his doorstep (he can't help himself when he's around her; he just wants to sip from her lips, steal her breath with kisses and other romantic nonsense), but things had stayed strictly PG-13. A little bit of tongue, a little bit of clutching, and yeah, there was a hickey dotting her neck now, but it was hardly anything redband trailer worthy.

Only now he's got his hand up her shirt, palming her breasts, rolling her nipples in between his fingers, and she's arching into him, dragging her hands along the waistband of his jeans. He doesn't mean for things to escalate his quickly, but he _really_ can't help himself around her.

She's panting into his ear, working at his belt buckle at the same time, and he almost feels a shiver run through him.

"Dick," she whispers, grazing her lips across his earlobe. God, the way she _sounds._ He _definitely_ shivers at that.

She pulls back then, smiling almost shyly at him as she gives him that look; the one where she gazes at him through her eyelashes. The one where he knows it means that she's turned on, the one full of fire and heat; the one that says she _wants_ it.

"We don't have to do anything," he says as she works her fingers through the buckle of his belt, finally removing it. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling, and it feels like the wind is being knocked out of his lungs. This is a different look; this one has warmth in her eyes, an entirely different kind of heat. This one says that he's absolutely _everything_ to her, and that makes him feel kind of like he's going to shout or burst. He'd feel stupid and overdramatic about it if he hadn't felt it so many times; it has been years after all…but that doesn't he's gotten used to it. "You know that right? I don't expect _anything_; we can just hang out. Keep talking. Watch a movie."

"I know," she says, smiling at how serious he's being. She leans up to kiss his lips softly. "I know. But I want to."

"Okay," he says, almost warily. They've been sleeping together for what feels like ages now, but it's still delicate. It's _more_ than that, more than just sleeping together, more than friendship and he knows it. He wants to make sure _she_ knows that he knows; that as much as this is casual, it isn't really. Not at it's core. "As long as you know that there's no pressure."

Raising an eyebrow, she puts more space between them, crossing her arms over her body as she removes her shirt. She peels it off slowly, the black turtleneck that hid everything; the curves of her waist and her breasts, the dark lace of her bra, the cream colour of her skin. He swallows as it creeps higher and higher up her torso, exposing these bits and pieces and curves to him. When it's finally off, she shakes out her hair, her face flushed, and then she grins at him, before leaning forward and kissing him hotly.

He doesn't object after that.

They haven't messed around lately (they haven't had the time), but it's been years since they first slept together, and he knows her like the back of his hand at this point. They've explored each other in excruciatingly intimate detail. He knows every stretch of skin, every freckle, every scar, every sweet spot. Knows every way to move his fingers, his tongue, and his hips to induce any particular moan, groan, whimper, or scream.

But it wasn't just the physicality of it all; it was the added layer of intimacy. He knew what would get her off, but he also knew what made her tick in every other part of her life. What made her angry, what made her sad, what made her happy. As well as he knew that she had a small birthmark on her ankle (one that he loved to kiss and bite_ he also knew that she hated broccoli, ran 5 miles every morning no matter how late she got in from patrol, and that she worried about her father's health more than she let on. He could read her like a book, inside and out.

He would be lying if he said that it didn't help that she was ridiculously hot, with a tiny waist, muscular long legs, and perky breasts that were slightly more than a handful. Just the smallest glimpse of a sliver of her freckled skin and he was hard.

It had been this way for years. _Years_.

She yanks his shirt over his head, scraping her nails along the planes of his chest and he hisses, not in pain, but from the feel of it all. She's so, so hot, moving to straddle him and press and graze her hands over the bulge in his pants, her hand moving up and down and back and forth. He groans cause it feels so, so good.

"You like that, huh, Hero?" she whispers, pressing her lace clad breasts up against his chest, her mouth hot against his ear. He grasps her around the waist, pulling her flush against him, her hand trapped in between their bodies and he grins into her hair.

"I guess you could say something like that, Gordon," he murmurs, his hands fingering the zipper of her skirt as he drags it down. "Something like that would definitely be correct."

She hmms in his ear and removes her hands to let him tear her skirt away from her body. She covers herself in so many layers some days; turtlenecks and blazers and pants that drive him crazy with thoughts of what's underneath. It just makes her that much hotter, cause he knows _exactly_ what she's hiding. He knows it _very_ well.

Her hands are pressing at his waistband again, and he brushes them away, his own hands making their way down her body. "Dick?"

He shakes his head, his mouth laying wet kisses to her neck. "Not now."

"But it's your birthday," she whimpers as he guides his fingers across her panties, rubbing her wet heat, feeling her warmth. She's so wet already, so warm, and all for him. He wants to die.

"I know," he presses his mouth to hers, hot and demanding, "so I should get what I want."

She arches up into him, rocking her hips against his fingers. "Oh really?" she coos. "And what is that you, ahh, what is it that you want?"

"Just a piece of you, Gordon," he angles his thumb to hit her clit and she cries out. He smirks, satisfied. "We never did get to have any birthday cake."

He pushes her underwear aside, sliding his fingers through her folds, hot and slick, and he feels himself harder further. She lets out a moan, soft and breathy as he circles her clit as she buckles her hips slightly. She is way too gorgeous when she is like this and it's taking all of his self control to not rip off her underwear and drive himself into her.

He trails his lips down her jaw line, across her neck, and down to her collarbone where he sucks the skin and scrapes his teeth across the bone and skin and flesh of her upper chest. He licks down her breastbone before moving to her breasts. His mouth is wet on her nipple, then on the underside of her breast, then down and down while his fingers continue to try and find the exact right way to touch her.

Only he knows the exact way to touch her.

His lips continue lower, lower, lower until they reach the band of her underwear and he removes his fingers, much to her dismay. He drags the lacy material down her thighs, kissing the exposed skin of her hipbones, suckling at the flesh of her thighs.

"Dick," she moans, her breath picking up and her skin flushing as he runs his tongue down her right ankle as he pulls off her underwear. Stringing her legs up over his shoulders, he nuzzles the soft skin of her inner thigh. She's spread open for him, wet and waiting, and she's so beautiful, it's almost too much.

He settles his mouth on her and he hears her cry out. His tongue presses up against her clit to say hello; it has been a while, after all.

Then he goes to town. Licking, nibbling, biting, kissing her slick, wet center like he's a dying man and her taste is the cure. Like he can't get enough.

(He can't.)

"Oh god," she moans, throwing her head back as her hands come down to grip at his hair. "Oh, _Dick_, oh Dick, oh _god_."

He licks at her, working his tongue against her folds in the way he knows she likes. He inhales the sweet scent of her, feeling the way she pulses against him. He knows that she's close, can tell by the way she's rocking her hips and the way she's chanting his name like a prayer in this breathy and high voice that's driving him wild.

Barbara's always so composed, always so professional, but then he gets her like this and she's completely undone. It's unbelievably sexy and he will never, not ever, not get off on the fact that he can get her like this; he can get his brainy, beautiful, amazing, good at _everything_ best friend to fall apart like putty in his hands.

Not like she couldn't do the same to him, of course.

"Dick," she breathes out once more as he laps against her pink flesh, his tongue flat against her clit. His fingers; _one, two, three_, make their way inside of her, moving quickly because he can feel her getting closer, closer, closer. Can feel her quiver, quiver, quiver.

She's trashing around now, and he moves one hand up to her hip and holds her down, keeps her in place. She's almost there and he's gonna make sure she gets there; it would do no good to have her squirm away.

"Dick," she moans, her hands pulling at his hair so hard it almost hurts. "More, please, oh god, _more_."

He moves a little faster and she rocks a little harder, digging her heels into his shoulders. "More," she breathes, "More, fuck, _ohh_—"

She comes against him then, her body shaking and rocking and he smiles against her. The way she feels, the way she sounds when she comes is _just._..

Best birthday _ever_.

She comes down from her high as he kisses her mouth gently, his fingers still working against her, his free hand on her breast. He's coaxing her back into another orgasm, her breath never getting time to settle, her cheeks becoming hotter as she clutches at his back and bucks her hips.

"Grayson," she mutters against his lips. "I want you. Now."

He wastes no time. Sheathes himself in a condom, hitches her leg over his hip, and thrusts into her. They fall into the same pattern, tangled limbs (Barbara was flexible as hell and it was amazing), bodies sliding against each other and moving in tandem.

Shouts of each other's names and harder, faster, yes, there right, there, are all that they can get out. All that fills the room along with the thump of the bed against the wall, the slap of skin against skin. She's so wet from before, so tight, and so perfect around him that it doesn't take long for them to reach their climax, shuttering and crying out.

It's too great; it's too good. Sex should never be this good. But it is. Sex with Barbara is different. Sex with Barbara means something. _Really_ means something.

He feels like the luckiest man on the planet right now.

"I love you, you know," he says breathlessly, after the disposes of the condom, gathering her into his arms. He wants to say it again, even though he's already said it to her tonight.

He says it to her every chance he gets.

"I know," she answers, her chest rising and falling as she cuddles into him. "I love you, too."

His heart pounds at her words, like they do every time she says it, like it has the thousands upon dozens of times she's said it over the years. He wants to ask her again, ask her to be his, but he knows better than that. He knows as much as she does that they aren't ready. And for now, that's okay.

He moves the strands of her hair that drape across her face behind her ear, leaning forward and pressing his nose against hers. She's so gorgeous and she's in his arms, their legs all tangled and sweaty, hearts still pounding in their chests. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he feels like the luckiest man alive around her.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asks as she shifts, propping her chin up on his shoulder. She smiles at him.

"Yeah," she licks her lips, "I'd like that."

He smiles back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Okay."

They move out of bed, Barbara grabbing his t-shirt before he can get to it. He notices that he never did get her bra off. He makes a mental note not to let that slide next time.

She pulls it over her head and the material practically drowns her, hitting her mid-thigh. She looks incredible, red hair all tussled, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, covered in his shirt. She grins up at him, flapping her arms slightly and laughing.

"I remember when I was taller than you, Grayson," she jokes, sliding back across the bed as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. "What happened?"

He shrugs as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "I grew up big and strong, I guess."

Barbara bites his earlobe. "Big and strong indeed," she murmurs. "And hot. Now carry me to the living room, Hero; you're worn me out and I want to watch this movie!"

Dick laughs, feeling her legs come rest around his torso. "What, like a piggyback ride? Sweetheart, you can carry yourself."

"Nope," she says, cuddling into his back. "No can do, Grayson. My legs feel like jelly and I'm pretty sure I'm still recovering from that. So be a gentleman and carry your lady to your comfortable couch."

Laughing again, he scoops her up, his palms cupping her thighs. "Do I at least get to pick the movie?"

"_Nope_. Ladies first."

"Babs," he whines, making his way into the living room. "It's my birthday."

"Pfft," she blows a raspberry on his cheek. "It's not your birthday anymore. You can't have your cake and eat it too."

He laughs. "I'm pretty sure I did."

She whacks him in the back of the head and he laughs again, feeling the comforting weight of her against his back.

Best birthday ever indeed.


End file.
